


The World

by Joan_of_Gender



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Trans Characters, demon dick magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 07:28:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19224481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joan_of_Gender/pseuds/Joan_of_Gender
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale have a plan to evade the wrath of heaven and hell. In the process, they are finally learning to trust one-another with their bodies.





	The World

They settle into seats together on the bus and pass the journey in companionable quiet, Aziraphale leaning slightly on the demon’s shoulder, lightly enough to pretend he isn’t. They say very little.

When they reach Crowley’s stop, to Aziraphale’s sleepy surprise he feels a hand on his shoulder. Only the tiniest of touches. “Come on, it’s our stop,” Crowley prompts him.

“Oh, yes.”

Aziraphale follows him. As they stand on the step and Crowley fumbles with the key, Aziraphale thinks of his own door, the burned bookshop, and says “I keep forgetting.”

“I’m sorry.”

They head inside.

“You look exhausted. Can I get you anything?”

“I’m fine,” Aziraphale yawns. Since when did this human exhaustion get the better of him? “Actually, if you don’t mind, a cup of tea would just hit the spot.”

“My pleasure.”

The demon busies himself with the kettle, old school. Aziraphale takes a seat – a hard, cold seat in this cavernous room with its dark stone walls – and tries to imagine it’s comfortable. “Thank you for letting me stay,” he says, with forced brightness. This place: even with Crowley here, it’s unsettling. He doesn’t think it could ever feel like…

Like home? Why should it?

Crowley seems to sense something’s wrong. He sets Aziraphale’s mug down and sits opposite, resting angular elbows on the surface of the table. “I’m sure the shop can be rebuilt,” he says. “Fire brigade were on the scene at once, looked like there wasn’t much damage to the actual building. Just the –.”

“Just the books?” Aziraphale completes the sentence pathetically. “But I loved the books.”

The demon nods his head slightly, wincing sympathetically. “I know.”

“Your car.”

Crowley’s golden eyes look watery as he composes his lips into a tiny sad smile. “Yeah… But you know, the bus home…” he trails off. “Silly.”

“No, do go on.”

“All the way I was thinking, how wonderfully mundane it is. To be involved in the world – on a bus full of _them_ , all of them blissfully unaware that they’re _alive._ Going home to their unextraordinary lives… and it made me not mind so much about the Bentley. I told you it was silly.”

“No, not at all,” the angel shakes his head, “I think that’s rather lovely.” Then he frowns. “You really are rather fond of them, aren’t you?”

Crowley’s eyes flick skywards for a minute, exasperated. “Does that still surprise you?”

Aziraphale tries to put his finger on what’s still troubling him. “But all that tempting.”

The demon shakes his head. “It was never about whether they do the good thing or the bad thing,” says Crowley, “it’s about how much they care. They make choices, because they believe they can, and their choices matter to them, and they care so much. So yes, fond, I guess. If you like.”

Aziraphale looks at the floor. “… I mean, I could make choices if I… I do make choices…”

Crowley stretches luxuriously in his seat, smiles, shuts his amber eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Well, the thing is,” says Aziraphale, almost reluctantly, “you see, what I mean to say is… making choices…”

The amber eyes flick open again. “Angel?”

Aziraphale subsides into silence, drinking his tea. He seems to be sulking.

Crowley looks at him. “You were waiting for me to say that I loved the humans.” Aziraphale yawns evasively. “You were, weren’t you? After all that, after everything that just didn’t happen, what else did you think?”

“I’m sorry.”

“The humans! Is it enough if I just love you?”

“I’m sorr– ” Aziraphale stops short, looking up at the demon. His eyes are bright, unblinking and baffled.

Crowley waves a dismissive hand.

Aziraphale beams, then hastily tries to explain: “I did know, all along, that you were good, but it’s another thing to be certain –.”

“Woah woah, stop right there. I’m not good. Or bad, actually. After today. And you aren’t either.”

Aziraphale nods, slow to this unaccustomed blasphemy. “I don’t want to be anything in particular,” he says. “I just want to _be_.”

Crowley smiles. He reaches out a hand across the table, and twines his elegant, demonic fingers with Aziraphale’s stout, scholarly ones. “Do you trust me, Angel?”

“Absolutely,” says Aziraphale promptly. He smiles sleepily and adds, “to Hell and back. That won’t be necessary, will it?”

“Ah,” says Crowley. “I’ve been thinking. Do you remember the final prophecy?”

 

***

 

They open the door to the bedroom. The bed is large and not especially inviting, like everything else in this apartment, but Crowley sees a pair of silver silk pyjamas lying on the end of the bed, as he intended, for Aziraphale: an effort to make him feel at home and comfortable in this big empty space which, Crowley suspects with a twinge of hurt, will never properly feel like home.

Once they are changed, they lie apart, facing each other.

“Should we talk about it?”

Crowley looks at him. He’s tired. “Get some sleep, Angel. You look exhausted.”

“I can not be,” Aziraphale mumbles.

“Are you sure you want to do this? Swapping…” Crowley asks. “I suppose there could be another way.” He sounds dubious.

“They will punish us,” says Aziraphale. “I’m sure of that.” He props himself up on his arm, dispelling his tiredness. “I’ll do whatever I need to, for them to leave us alone.”

“But there’s something, isn’t there?”

“I just thought…” he looks away, blushing. “You’ll _see_ everything.”

Crowley seems slightly taken off-guard. He manages a breezy laugh. “Oh Angel, I won’t look. If you don’t want me to. Would I do that?”

“It’s not that. I just… It’s not how I wanted it to happen.”

Crowley has those steady golden eyes fixed on him.

Aziraphale reaches out and runs a tentative hand over the demon’s arm. “I don’t want my first memory of your… I’ll be in hell. Is that silly?”

Crowley is looking at him almost in wonder. “No. Not at all.”

Aziraphale seems about to say something else, then instead he leans in close to the demon and pulls him into a kiss. Crowley gasps a soft intake of unnecessary breath, then his body loosens itself from the surprise and he twists his fingers into the angel’s pale hair.

After what seems a lot more like eternity than anything else either of them has experienced in the last six thousand years, they break apart from the kiss and lie, noses almost touching, Aziraphale’s shiningly bright eyes staring into Crowley’s amber ones, those black pupils wide and steady. “You’re like all the world,” the demon mumbles. The world that he didn’t want to lose.

Aziraphale smiles. The room is brighter – and actually, Crowley realises, slightly smaller. The ceiling isn’t quite so cavernously high, the walls are closer. The bed smaller.

“Hey!” Crowley feigns crossness. “Stop redecorating.”

Aziraphale glances around, confused. “I wasn’t aware I had.” It certainly hadn’t been intentional – the place was simply beginning to feel a little more like home. “So,” he says gently, “are you going to – you know, tempt me?”

Crowley narrows his eyes. “We’re not at war, Angel. Anyway, after six thousand years, I know that won’t work. You think I haven’t been trying?” He stretches out on the bed, arms behind his head, tilts a lazy look at Aziraphale. “Why don’t you thwart me?”

Aziraphale throws a pillow at him.

 

***

 

“You can stop making an effort about the pyjamas,” Aziraphale mumbles into Crowley’s hair. The demon is curled close to him, head against his chest. He runs a wandering hand across the angel’s skin from neck to navel, and at his touch the silk slides away into nothing, leaving pale skin exposed.

“Okay, Angel?” He looks up into Aziraphale’s face. If Aziraphale didn’t know better, he’d call that tone reverence.

“Splendid,” he says, trying to keep his tone level, but unsteadying desire finds its way into his words. “If you are?”

The demon presses a slow, warm, open mouth to his collarbone, tugs gentle kisses down his skin to the angel’s breast. His hand lands on Aziraphale’s side, stroking circles with his thumb that graze his ribs, and the kisses grow more insistent, forked tongue flicking against nipple. The angel feels himself burning up at the touch. He makes a slightly alarmed sound.

“Hey,” says Crowley softly, pausing. “What is it, Angel?”

“I feel,” he says, with mild panic, “rather like I’m on fire.”

They both sit up.

“Do you think this is safe?” asks Aziraphale. “An angel and a demon.”

Crowley feels something flutter in his own aura. Fast and nervous. “Not entirely.”

They wait.

After nothing has happened for a while, Aziraphale puts arms around him, gingerly at first but more confident seeing that the touch doesn’t blaze into flames. He surrounds him with his own comforting warmth, chin on his shoulder.

“Do you want to know what I’m afraid of?” asks Crowley.

“Tell me.”

“I’m afraid of you. Tomorrow – whenever they come for us, whatever it is they have planned – they could do what they like to me, lock me up, torture me,  disappear me forever. Everything is bearable. Even oblivion. That is…” He finds the angel’s hand. “Without you, I was invincible, because nothing mattered. But if they do something to you, I –.”

“Oh!” whispers the angel. His arms tighten around Crowley, keeping him close. Crowley leans into it. Even now, the space between them hurts.

“Oh, bless it all!” Crowley says. Even if they do burn up, at least it’ll be together. He twists round and looks, slightly pleadingly, at Aziraphale. “I think it’s worth the risssk.”

Aziraphale agrees not with words but with his whole body, with sudden movement rolling Crowley onto the bed. He leans his weight on one trembling arm while the other moves desperately on Crowley’s chest and grabs at his thighs. The demon hisses with pleasure. He presses a kiss, clumsy in its urgency, to Crowley’s inner leg, licks up towards his crotch, finds his clit with strong, darting strokes, and Crowley arches his body up, gasping. Every inch of his skin feels alight, ripples of hot pleasure dance across his lower back, his cheeks flush. “Yes, jussst there.”

Aziraphale’s lips move against the demon’s skin as he whispers something loving and indistinct, and the sound buzzes its gentle vibrations into him. His tongue travels a few long, indulgent times upwards between his labia. He sucks at his clit. As the demon begins to dissolve into orgasm, Aziraphale’s movements focus in, tiny and precise and insistent. Wave after wave of heavenly pleasure wash over Crowley. He pulls Aziraphale astride him and the angel kisses up towards his breasts, teeth grazing his nipple. “Oh my g–... s–…” Then to the demon’s neck, tugging at the skin behind his ear, and Crowley slides a hand into the hair at the base of the angel’s own neck, pulling him closer. He kisses along Crowley’s jaw, and finally reaches his mouth, and they kiss a long, engulfing kiss, a kiss that seems to run into itself, so that it is almost impossible to tell where angel ends and demon begins. Aziraphale feels Crowley fill him as the demon wills his body to change shape beneath him: he receives the demon’s dick into his body with an appreciative gasp, thrusting forward, feeling it swell inside him.

 

***

 

At long last they break apart, and Crowley looks up at Aziraphale through half-closed eyes. Now he feels it too: exhaustion. So human it’s divine. This vast peace like nothing he’s known outside heaven, and the overpowering urge to sleep close to his angel. He looks so beautiful like this, lips dark, cheeks flushed, close enough to see his skin, every imperfection perfectly. He fills Aziraphale’s vision. He always has, of course.

“Now?” mumbles Crowley with a sleepy smile.

“Now,” agrees Aziraphale. They kiss again and he feels the change: at every point of contact, a charge passes between them.

When they part, this time, each sees his own face.


End file.
